


I will fight away all of your fears

by weirdlittlecookie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e12 Lunar Ellipse, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Panic Attacks, Underage Drinking, promo material for 3B mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:52:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdlittlecookie/pseuds/weirdlittlecookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about life is that, like puzzles, no matter how well you put the pieces together they always come apart. But, like puzzle pieces, you can put a life back together again.</p><p>Derek gets more than he bargained for and likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shippingwolves.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shippingwolves.tumblr.com).



> Written for twcountdown.tumblr.com
> 
> I struggled with the name, terribly sorry about that! Ended up with a tweaked line from My Immortal cos the song largely summed up a lot about the fic (a lot, not all).

 

Derek knows his general expression is considered less than amicable by most people but right now, 2 AM in the morning, he has the feeling it's downright homicidal.

Which many count _as his general expression_ but whatever. He knows exactly who's on the other side of his door and he's more than ready to re-live some old memories. More specifically the ones with enflicted bodily injuries.

“Deereek! Come on, buddy, I know you’re in there – there’s an aura of… of grumpy puppy around the place!”

Derek finds a Stiles snickering and drooling all over his door frame. It also seems to be the only thing keeping him upright.

"Hi Der-Der. My man, ‘sup?"

"You’re drunk." the alcohol fumes coming off of Stiles would stifle a human’s nose and Derek has to fight to keep himself from wincing.

"Nothing really gets past you Derek, does it?" Stiles manages to snort back, slurring the words before discovering the wonder that is his tongue. He sticks it out as much as possible, trying to see it himself. "My tongue is really pink. Is yours pink? I think you should show me."

Derek’s had enough. Grabbing Stiles by the neck he hauls him inside, his hand being the only thing keeping Stiles from plummeting nose-first to the floor. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Derek asks while balancing Stiles on a chair, moving to get a glass and fill it with water. When he turns back Stiles has collapsed over the table, his eyes glazed and staring into the distance. Derek comes back and props Stiles upright with a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer him the glass of water. Siles merely blinks and Derek rolls his eyes, huffing "unbelievable" under his breath as he places the glass on Stiles' lips.

"Come on, idiot, drink up so I can send you on your way."

Stiles parts his lips and Derek tips the glass carefully, some of the water still missing his mouth and trickling down Stiles’ chin.

Satisfied after a few big gulps Derek moves the glass away and absently wipes the escaped drops of water. What he didn’t expect was Stiles to nuzzle against his palm, faint smile on his lips and eyes fluttering shut. He takes a deep breath and relaxes into the position with seemingly no intention on going anywhere.

Derek feels his heart rate pick up, he might be panicking a little. Okay a lot. He doesn’t move his hand though, doesn’t have the heart. The wave of relief coming off Stiles is enough to anchor him to the spot, and he makes himself more comfortable by taking the seat next to Stiles.

Since he’s not going anywhere, Derek looks at Stiles, really  _looks_  at him. He notices he’s lost a little weight and there are dark circles around his eyes.

_It’s the Nemeton._

Derek hadn’t realized the change on the brief encounter they’d had after he’d gotten back. Then again, he’d been pretty wiped by the long drive to take in any additional information on the mental state of  _Scott’s pack_.

Even with the disability caused by the Nemeton he was still an alpha.  _A true alpha._  Something Derek could never be, would never be, and surprisingly he feels okay with that.

The trip with Cora had helped clear his head, get some new perspective. Cora hadn’t come back with her, needing a little more time to get adjusted to the fact she wasn’t alone in the world and Derek was fine letting her do that. After pressing a phone in her hand and making her take a blood oath she’d call or text him every two days. New perspective or not, he was still allowed a little over-bearing big brother behavior.

Stiles’ soft snore brought him back to the present. Him cupping Stiles’ cheek and  _at what point had he started rubbing his thumb along it_?

With the encouragement from his aching elbow, Derek decides it’s time to move. Carefully he stands to round his hand behind Stiles’ waist and hoists him to his feet.

“Stiles, I’m moving you to the bed, okay?” As an answer Stiles simply wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, burying his face in as well.  _What the hell is he supposed to do with this?_

They take their time moving to the bed, the only soft thing he has around in the barren place, and sets Stiles on the edge. Derek kneels to rid Stiles of his shoes and pushes him down. After pulling the cover over him Derek is about to move away, sleep on the floor, but is stopped by Stiles suddenly being awake and grabbing his arm.

"Please don’t leave me alone." Stile’s eyes are big and he looks scared, on the brink of bewilderment.

Derek huffs out a small breath but eases on to the bed next to Stiles, crossing his arms, stiff as a plank. That doesn’t stop Stiles though who throws his arm across his chest, followed by a leg that wiggles its way between Derek’s. He goes back to nuzzling Derek’s neck, humming in satisfaction, and falls asleep after giving Derek one tight squeeze.

Derek is torn. His skin feels too small, itching on every point he and Stiles are touching which, at the moment, doesn’t leave out much if any. His instincts tell him to either flee or fight, fighting meaning dipping Stiles under him and –  _no_. That is a box of worms he can leave for another time. Or never, never works too.

He bites his cheek when Stiles huffs in his sleep and plasters himself even tighter all along Derek’s side. And chest. And… yeah, it’s going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

A groan beside Derek's ear has his eyes snapping open and he squints in the morning light pooling in from the huge windows. In the onslaught henearly misses the other intrusion much more tangible, practically glued to his side. A chill runs through him as a hand moves across his abdomen, his shirt rolled up high on his chest.

Then there’s a push against his shoulder and a wild scramble off the bed. Stiles is running for the bathroom, barely missing the wall. The bathroom door stays partially open as he slumps down to heave in front of the toilet. Derek sits up, running a hand over his face.

At what point had he fallen asleep, he wasn’t sure. Standing up he leaves the bedroom, giving Stiles and his retching some privacy.

Derek loads the coffee machine in auto-mode. He flicks it on and leans on his elbows, running his fingers through his hair. Stiles was really here. _Is really her_. At some point during the night he was sure that was only a dream, the heated image of being tangled together only a result of his current dry-spell. Not that he couldn't end it as quickly as he'd taken it on but there was simply no interest and in reflect of his most recent partners he had a pretty good feeling his abstinence would go appreciated all around. What he hadn't expected, however, was a very cuddly Stiles in his bed, rubbing himself in all the wrong _right_ places. Derek picks up the the sound of nearing footsteps and straightens up, busying himself with coffee cups.

Stiles emerges to the kitchen his hair wet, smelling like Derek’s soap. There’s also a hint of embarrassment, and Derek guesses he must remember more than he'd like to. Stiles stills in the doorway, looking unsure of himself. Derek sees him glancing between the coffee maker and the front door so he makes up Stiles’ mind for him by sliding a cup across the table.

Stiles slumps down appreciatively, still avoiding Derek’s eyes. Even when he finally speaks he chooses to address the coffee, his words tumbling over one another.

"I, uh, I don’t remember a lot from last night. Went out with Scott and after my fifth I forgot he actually can’t get drunk anymore and dared him to a drinking game. He didn’t accept but that didn’t stop me from trying anyway. We got separated but I wasn’t dumb enough to take the jeep and we were hanging out just around the corner so I just —-" Stiles seems to have finally run out of air and finishes his sentence with a flailing hand gesture before falling silent again.

Apart from the ramble that just erupted Derek’s never seen Stiles so quiet and looking at him now it’s impossible to miss how tired and skinny he looks. With that he makes up his mind, sitting cautiosly to the other side of the table, facing Stiles.

"Are you hungry?"

Stiles’ head snaps back up so quickly he winces at the sudden movement. “Huh?”

Derek goes on.”I know you just probably emptied the entire content of your stomach in the bathroom but if you’re able to keep that coffee down you should consider breakfast too.”

Stiles glances down at the cup he’s still holding between his hands and takes an experimental sip. Derek watches his Adam’s apple move as the coffee goes down, staying down. He lifts his eyes back to Stiles’, raising an eyebrow.

"Breakfast it is." Stiles smirks and takes another sip. "You know how I like my coffee? I’m flattered."

Derek shrugs his shoulders, turning to place his own cup in the sink. “Pretty hard to forget such an abuse to a fine substance.”

"Purist." Stiles murmurs against the rim of the cup, smile pressed on his lips.

Derek can’t help but return the smile, ending up trying to hide it in a cough when he notices Stiles’ shocked look. He coughs a little himself, running a hand through his hair.

"Borrowed your shower, figured it was the humane thing to do for the both of us."

Derek just nods. “You could up your humanity some more and go back to the bedroom and borrow a fresh shirt. First drawer on the left.” Stiles raises his eyebrows at that, watching Derek rub the back of his neck and move to steal Stiles’ empty cup. “We’re going out, I don’t have any food in the house.”

“Living on protein shakes and resentment against the world?”

“Pretty much. Less on the latter these days though.” Derek says, rubbing his hands against his thighs.  _When did he start fidgeting?_

Stiles throws his hands in the air and leaves the the room. “Coffee, breakfast, revelations, I must’ve drank my way to an alternate universe.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Figures from all the diners that serve greasy goodness with a side of more grease you take me to the one that only has organic smoothies.”

“It has sandwiches too.” Derek folds the menu and crosses his fingers over it. “You should consider trying one, you might even like them.”

Stiles makes a face. “Something that looks like it’s made of The Swamp Thing is not going in to my cake hole. As a matter of fact, I’d be completely happy with cake going in to my cake hole.” He looks at the menu again, eyes darting to Derek. “What are you having?”

“The shake made of The Swamp Thing.” Derek smirks as Stiles sticks his tongue out at him.

The waiter comes to take their orders, sharing a bemused look with Derek as Stiles shuts his eyes and randomly points an item in the menu.

“Might as well make it an adventure.” he grins as the waiter leaves, shoveling sugar into the coffee delivered prior. Derek shivers in horror at the sight.

While stirring the liquid around Stiles gets serious again, looking Derek straight in the eye this time as he says “I’m sorry. About last night. I don’t think I actually got around saying it.”

Derek takes a sip of his own black coffee and shrugs. “You don’t need to apologize, Stiles. You’ve had my back on more than one occasion, and I don’t think I’ve ever thanked  _you_. So… thank you.”

The same moment the waiter comes back with their orders, giving Stiles a moment to mull around the fact he did not only get forgiven but also thanked. When the waiter moves away Stiles opens his mouth.

"How about we both agree sorrys and thanks aren’t needed. Cause we’re kinda friends, right? Stuff like that goes without saying. Or, in the case of a major screw-up, with pizza."

Stiles sounds nonchalant but Derek can sense how nervous he is. He feels the same way. This is definitely rarely-tread territory for him, having somebody call him a friend.

"I’d like that. Being friends, I mean."

Stiles’ nervousness eases and Derek feels his own hunched up shoulders relax. They eat in silence, Stiles making poorly-hidden faces of disgust when taking a sip of his lemongrass and blueberry shake. Derek itches to ask about the Nemeton but now is not the time. Stiles still seems too on edge, too ready to flee at the slightest questioning.

So for the time being, Derek waits and concentrates on guarding Stiles’ attempts to hide the rest of his shake in the plastic plant at their table.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later Derek gets a phone call from the sheriff.

"You better come over." is the only thing he hears before the line disconnects and Derek is already halfway through the door.

He parks by the curve, noticing the sheriff’s car being the only one present. Sometimes he forgets the others still have school to finish while he only — well, deals with god-awful crap flying from every direction.  _He should get a hobby. Maybe sudokus._

Before Derek can fully even lift his arm to knock the door opens. “Sheriff,” he nods minutely.

"Derek" sounds the reply and he’s motioned in by the man stepping aside from the doorway.

Derek steps in to the living room and turns around just as the sheriff starts talking, not wasting any time on pleasantries. Derek remembered liking him for a reason.

"I know Stiles was with you. Last week, when he didn’t turn in. Again. He’s been coming home smelling like perfume or somebody else’s cologne, always the same tired and indifferent look on his face. But when he — when he came home the other day, he looked  _rested_. Happy even. I don’t know what you did but I’m glad you did it.”

The sheriff pauses, but Derek can tell he’s not done. There’s a question to be asked and he braces himself for it. He’s probably told to stay away from Stiles, maybe not impolitely but just as well. He gets it, is ready to accept it. After all, all he’s been able to cause to the people around him is suffering. He just didn’t expect to feel this retched about it and he’s actually starting to feel nauseous.

"I need you to take him."

Derek blinks,  _what_?

"What?"

"I need you to take him. Please."

"After the Nemeton, he hasn’t been sleeping or eating. The other day was the first time in weeks I saw him make a joke or actually smile. _Weeks_ , Derek.” 

"But…"

"And he didn’t wake up screaming the next morning."

Derek snaps his mouth shut. He had noticed how scared Stiles looked when he stepped away from the bed. Even in the drunken haze he was afraid of it.

"The drinking?"

The sheriff nods. “I think he’s trying to drown the voices, dreams.. I’m not sure what they are. He refuses to talk to me about them, and he pulled the Good Will Hunting routine when I tried to make him talk to a psychiatrist.”

Derek might think that was a little funny if the reason wasn’t so gloom. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re asking me to do, sheriff.”

"Call me John, I think that’s the least I can do after dropping this on you."

"Whatever it is you did, do it again. Whatever you want in return, you can have."

 _John_  looks at Derek with desperate, guilt-ridden eyes. Derek realizes he must know why Stiles chose to connect to the Nemeton in the first place. _Of course_  he knows, and it’s eating at him as much as it is at Stiles.

"No favors are required, Stiles is a friend. I’ll do what I can though I don’t have a clue that even means."

 Derek can hear John’s pulse calm down, relief washing over him. “I’ll send him at your door tonight.”

Derek feels the conversation is over and he nods in acknowledgment before turning away.

"And Derek? Thank you."

Derek stops for a moment, hand on the door knob. He wants say there really is no need but he feels this is something John has to get to say, so instead he whispers a quiet “you’re welcome”, voice suddenly cracked, and flees as quickly as he can.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s a pound at Derek’s door, much like the one just a few days ago, but now instead of alcohol the fumes coming off Stiles are more rage-like in nature as he ploughs through the opened door.

"I can’t believe he did this! Did this to you!" Stiles throws a big lacrosse bag on the floor, presumably full of clothes and books, and turns to face Derek. "What the hell did he extort you with, huh? Has to be something he’s kept pretty quiet about, there’s nothing on you at the house. Or his work desk. Or home computer… or work computer."

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. Of course Stiles, the snoop he is, wouldn’t be able to keep his nose out of things that don’t concern him. He’s his own McClane, Derek bemuses, fighting down the sudden impulse to laugh.

"You think this is funny, Derek? My own dad kicked me out and send me to pester you holding god knows what over your head!" Stiles is in full mode, hands flying in every direction like he could pull a miracle out of thin air.  _Right, he should probably say something._

"He didn’t do anything like that, Stiles, he asked  _politely_. You should try it sometime.”

Stiles’ jaw drops at that, “And you said yes?  _Why_?”

"Because, like you said yourself, we’re friends."

 "I did say that, didn’t I?" Stiles huffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets and spinning around on his heel. "You got a place for me to sleep then?"

 _Now that was quick turn-around_ , and Derek can’t help the small smile appearing on his lips.

"I ordered a couch but it’ll take a few days. In the meantime, you can use the bed."

"What happened to the old couch?"

"Don’t know, wasn’t here when I came back."

"You mean somebody  _stole_  a sofa so ugly it might actually try and set itself on fire  _and you’re not wondering why_?”

Derek shrugs, making Stiles roll his eyes before giving up on an obviously lost cause.

Stiles turns to face him. “What about you?”

Derek nods his head to the direction of the area defined as a living room, or more specifically, the living room rug.

"Dude, no way. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed!"

"I’ve slept on worse."

"Not the point!" Stiles rubs the back of his neck, heart rate picking up as he speaks again. “Either we share or I’m sleeping beside the bed just to spite you.”

"Fine, but you better not snore."

"Says the guy who probably growls in his sleep!"

Stiles is smiling again, his tension visibly melting away. Derek smiles back, deciding not to think too hard how easy it was to turn Stiles around. He figures there must have been a conversation between the Stilinski men he was blissfully unaware of. 

Stiles starts rocking back and forth on his heels, clapping his hands. “So, uh…” he gets out before falling silent again, “I should, probably, do my homework. Or something. Take on needle-point since you haven’t quite grasped the finer things in life like Catfish.” 

"I don’t even want to know what that is" Derek says and steps to the living room, the scarce furniture moved aside to give space for a sea of scattered puzzle pieces on the middle of the floor.

“What the hell is that? How many pieces is in that thing? Like a million?” Stiles has moved to stand beside him, looking at the floor incredulously.

“More like nine thousand. There are bigger.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Everyone needs a hobby, Stiles.”

“I thought you  _lifted things_  as a hobby. At least you look like it.” sounding a little like a back-handed compliment even in Derek’s ears, he looks at Stiles to find him blushing furiously. “I mean, you know, you’re pretty packed, even for a werewolf.” Stiles’ eyes widen even more when he realizes that actually didn’t help brush off the first comment  _at all_. “I’m gonna shut up now. Yup, shutting up.”

Ignoring how much he feels like preening at the moment, Derek leaves Stiles to recuperate and sits cross-legged on the floor, working on a piece of the puzzle. Soon Stiles follows suit and sits right by Derek to watch him silently.

“You’re hovering.” Derek says.

“Uh, it’s just… what are you doing?”

“Is it really that hard to decipher?”

“No, I mean  _why_  are you doing it like that?” 

Derek turns to look at Stiles. “You mean there’s a certain way to do a puzzle?” Derek looks at the part he’d been working on. Sure he had just kind of dropped all the pieces on the floor, turned them around and picked out a figure from the model picture and started looking for the right pieces. He had noticed it wasn’t a very productive method so there were a few other characters on the works at the same time. Now he feels a little hesitant though, shoulders slumping, like  _he can’t do a fucking puzzle right_. Looking at Stiles he asks “How would you do it?” 

Stiles’ eyes dart between him and the puzzle and he chews on his lip absently. Derek is mesmerized by it. He stirs when Stiles opens his mouth.

“Well, I would look for all the border-pieces, for starters. And then color-coordinate - see how there’s only pink in one corner?” Stiles demonstrates, pointing at a section on the box cover.

Derek hums in agreement and looks up to Stiles, their noses practically bumping because Stiles had leaned in with the box. Both of them shift quickly farther apart but Derek is still able to catch the faintest scent of arousal. Derek subtly takes in another lungful but the smell is already gone.  _Must’ve imagined it in the first place._

Shaking his head a little he concentrates on Stiles again. “Would you like to help?”

Stiles blinks, his mouth turning into a smile a moment later. “Sure! It’ll be fun!” he says, making a show of stretching his arms, rolling his head from side to side. “We’ll have this ready in no time.”


	6. Chapter 6

“This is never going to be ready!” Stiles thumps to his back in frustration, “Why does there have to be so much blue sky? Haven’t they heard of ominous dark cloud masses?”

Derek glances from his side of the puzzle, working on a similar patch of ocean.

"Yeah, cause that would be so much easier."

It’s been five days and they’ve barely made a dent to the pile categorized as “purgatorial bliss”, even if everything else seems to be coming along fine. Derek gives the pieces an evil eye when Stiles isn’t looking. Stiles is still laying on the floor, hands stretched out, his shirt riding up to his navel. Derek glares at the nomadic puzzle pieces again,  _this is your fault,_ before Stiles interrupts the silent lecture.

"I have an idea. Let’s burn them - you know, a little kerosene, some matches, we’ll get body paint and celebrate the moon. You’d like that?"

Derek gives him a blank look, the one he’s been honing for when Stiles is at his most annoying. Which is quite often. The fact it seems to drive Stiles mad is only an added bonus, or that’s what he tells himself. “I’m failing to see the “liking”-part of the scenario.”

"Ever heard of a book burning? I bet those are a hoot."

"No. Burning books, any kind of books, is low-brow.”

"So you see my point then?"

"Shut up and get back to work."

Every day after school Stiles has dropped his bag by the door, scrounged something from the fridge (now stocked full by Derek) and slumped down by the puzzle. After a few hours Derek has pulled - or kicked, depending on his mood - him up and marched him to the kitchen for dinner. Derek is surprised Stiles can do more than boil water. A lot more.

Going to bed becomes a little ceremonial, Stiles elaborating his tiredness by yawning and stretching,  _always with the stretching_ , before heading in. It takes Derek a few nights to realize he follows in right after Stiles but by that time he thinks it’s too late to change the pattern. Also, breaking it now would be a sign.  _Which it isn’t._

Both quaintly look elsewhere while undressing. Derek might have gotten a glance but not on purpose. He’s pretty sure however that Stiles’ had been, him being as subtle as a freight train when caught spying.

When Stiles’ pulse speeds up as a sign of an impending nightmare Derek slots their fingers together and the mare passes.  _Cause that’s what friends do_. He ignores the skip his heart makes at that.

Tonight, they work mostly in silence but sometimes they talk - of school, how Cora is doing, Stiles’ mom, Derek’s childhood, everything. Quietly laying their lives for the other to see, Derek feels a bridge form between them. So he tells about Paige.

When he finishes, there’s not only empathy directed at him but a tidal-wave of stress in general emanating from Stiles, like he’s thinking about saying something but can’t get it out. Derek wants to ask about the Nemeton, about the sacrifice. The topic is like an itch he can’t scratch, has no right to scratch and the urge to do so regardless is getting unbearable.

That night when Derek hears Stiles’ breath come out in heaves he skips the hand-holding and pulls them into a full-body hug. Stiles clings to him like he’s saving him from drowning, much like the first night. Derek places his hand on Stiles’ neck, murmuring reassuring words under his breath until Stiles’ breathing evens out. 

Derek can’t sleep though. There’s a buzz in his head, revelation upon revelation that all keep whispering that he opened up. Told about the loss and wasn’t struck down by grief and guilt. The trip with Cora had helped him forgive himself for certain aspects of his life even if not still entirely accept all that he was. Having Stiles around though, letting Derek be just as he was, has made him realize  _he_  can do the same.

And that’s just it. Stiles gets him distracted.  _By life. Creates it around him. Makes Derek want to share it with him._

_Crap._


	7. Chapter 7

The couch finally arrives in another two days. However, when Derek had started working on the puzzle he hadn’t quite thought it through - even with their pace quickening there’s still chunks of the picture to be solved and the thing is on bare floor. So there it stands and can do nothing more. Derek’s silent lecture has become a very vocal, one-sided trash-talk with the remaining drifting puzzle pieces, calling them omegas under his breath, while Stiles rolls his eyes.

They decide to temporarily locate the couch into the kitchen, all the time Stiles making jokes about only having to reach out an arm to get to the fridge. Derek can smell the disappointment though, his own feelings pretty much mirroring Stiles’. You’d think it wouldn’t be so nice to share a bed with someone who steals all the blankets (even if he doesn’t get cold) and practically act as a substitute for one (which, Derek noticed, he actually doesn’t feel so adverse about).

 

The same night they finish the puzzle. Well, almost. One piece has gone missing, and Derek and Stiles turn the living room upside-down looking for it.

"Crap I’m so sorry Derek.  _Crap_.” Stiles is rubbing his hand all over his face and hair, clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

"Stiles it’s completely fine, it’s just a puzzle."

Maybe not just a puzzle though; they’ve spent countless hours over it, laughing and talking.  _Really talking_. About things neither of them has had the will or the balls to say to anyone before. It became a safe haven. But it’s still. Just. A puzzle. A tool for something else, like that stupid feather on Dumbo. But Stiles is not there yet.

"No. No, it’s not okay! I probably lost it when I threw those pieces at you the other day. It’s my fault. I never — I never think about the consequences on the crap I pull. And you’ve been working on this so hard and now it’s never gonna get finished and I just — I just —" Stiles starts heaving, chest moving in shallow fast pulls. Derek jumps across the puzzle in one flurry of movement, sending a part of the pieces flying. He pulls Stiles in his arms, rubbing his back and murmuring in his ear, trying to break through the attack. Stiles fists his shirt, and breathes into Derek’s neck. Derek rests his head on top of Stiles’, monitoring the scent. It’s not getting better.

"It’s okay Stiles, I’m here, _I’m right here_.” 

Derek holds Stiles’ face between his hands, trying to will him to calm down.  _He doesn’t know what to do, no idea what to do._

But then there’s a pair of lips on Derek’s. Too caught by surprise, his brain doesn’t pick up on it until Stiles is already pulling away. Derek can see an apology forming in Stiles’ mouth so he decides to intercept it instead. There’s nothing tentative about the kiss Derek moves in to plant sloppily on Stiles - he takes advantage of the fact Stiles’ lips had already been parted, and slides his tongue in, chasing a taste that seems to be slowly driving him mad. Stiles’ gasp wakes him from the frenzy and tamps down the wolf in him demanding  _to lick and bite and claim_. Derek eases his grip, letting Stiles back off if he wants to. Instead, Stiles crawls right onto his lap, wrapping himself around Derek with his hands and feet.

Derek makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, firmly placing a hand on Stiles’ back, sliding the other to grip his ass and bring him even closer. The sensation of Stiles squirming on his lap sends a shiver through his entire body, blood rushing south faster than he can think. He takes a moment to enjoy the soft mouth on his, tracing the inner line of Stiles’ lips before licking his way completely in again. Stiles eagerly meets his tongue with his own, gliding against Derek’s, pushing and pulling with desperate moans. The fervor of it makes Derek even more turned on as he’s hit by an image of Stiles powering over him, his mouth raiding every inch of his skin and pushing him against a wall or a bed and just  _taking._

Derek grabs Stiles with both hands, lifting them up from the ground and heads for the bed. 

Derek sets Stiles on the edge of the bed, lips still tightly locked together. Getting their shirts off like that is a scramble and Derek comically ends up ripping his. Stiles swoops his over his head in one movement, dropping it at the foot of the bed and grabs a hold of Derek’s zipper. He’s flushed, lips swollen from kissing, and Derek can’t seem to get enough of the sight. Still he wants more, a kind of need he hadn’t realized he had. But the look on Stiles is so raw, so distant, that Derek finds himself stilling the hands shaking from adrenaline. 

"Stiles, wait." 

"You don’t want this?" Stiles looks up in shock, snapping out of whatever trance he was falling into.

"I want it. But not like this." Derek slumps down on his knees, placing himself between Stiles'. He rubs the man's arms in solace for a moment, gathering his courage, finally stopping the movement on his shoulders. "I think we should talk about this. About what happened."

"It was just a panic attack, don't worry I get them sometimes ---"

"Not just that, about what caused it, about the Nemeton." Derek lets go of Stiles at that, already sensing something going really wrong.

Stiles’ mood changes in an instant, tension visibly showing in every muscle. Shock turns to anger in his eyes and his jaw sets as he says “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He pushes himself away from Derek and fishes his shirt off the ground. “And I don’t see how it’s any of your business anyway.”

“ _Any of my business?_  Oh grow up Stiles!”

Stiles flips around “Is _that_ what this is?” gesturing between them, “Some kind of bribe or pity thing to get me talking?”

Derek can’t believe his ears.”What? No! I just think you should talk about it, your dad said —”

"Wait,  _my dad_? You talked to my dad? What the hell? You two ganging up on me now, that it?”

"Stiles just calm down —"

"No! You know what, I’m  _tired_  of being calmed or tamped down. By all of you. So screw this. And screw  _you_.”

When Stiles slams the door shut, it takes Derek an hour before he can move again.  _He screwed up. He pushed too hard. Stiles is never coming back._


	8. Chapter 8

The following night is a full moon. Derek can feel the familiar pull, like tangible strings urging his form to break apart and rearrange. Before he might’ve even considered it, gone a little feral just to let all his issues become secondary but that’s not how you build a life. You can’t let it all go because of one moment. So he doesn’t, instead focusing all his pent-up energy into a fierce work-out.

There were of course other ways to relieve stress,  _social ways_ , but the mere thought makes him sick. Seems when Stiles walked off he took Derek’s sex-drive with him, and doesn’t that make him do another 100 crunches.

He's way past the point of trying to brush the whole thing off as a mere sexual attraction. There's a connection, his entire being humming from it.

And then there's the scent.  _His scent_. His hormones doing something he's actively been ignoring. Something he recognized from his own parents. He really wants to jump off the window.

Just as he’s about to start another set he hears a knock on the door. By now he’s learned to whom that double-tap belongs to even as it is more careful than on previous occasions. Tucking his shirt back on, he moves to open it anyway, his best scowl acting as greeting.

Stiles looks at him with round eyes, and Derek can’t seem to keep his glaring as forceful as he’d like. Naturally, he gets even more pissed.

"I uh, I never did give this back to you." Stiles says, holding up the Henley he’d borrowed from Derek after his first sleep-over. Derek doesn't move to take it from him, his nose picking up the scent on the shirt a little confused.

"It doesn’t seem to have any of my smell on it. That’s pretty impressive of you for one wear."

"I might’ve worn it more than once. Slept in it after it got too wrinkly. Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course."

Stiles fidgets for a moment. “I talked to my dad. We agreed I’d go talk to Ms. Morell, she’s helped me before.”

"I’m glad."

They fall silent. Derek is not in a hurry - Stiles is the one who came, he can do the talking. Stiles last about a minute before his entire being suffers an eruption that ends with his extremities flying and fidgeting.

"Okay  _I know_  I messed up but  _please_  could you not make me do the groveling in the doorway!”

Derek moves aside, making sure they won’t touch. Stiles moves past him, coming to a halt in the middle of the kitchen, glancing around the apartment.

"You moved the couch?"

"Had the room after putting the puzzle back in the box."

"Ya I’m really sorry about tha—-"

Derek slams his fist on the wall. “Just forget about the puzzle, it’s not about the fucking puzzle!” His eyes flash blue for a second, the full moon making him more volatile than usually. He takes a deep breath, terrified for a moment he has scared Stiles off. Who apparently has barely even flinched, merely waiting for Derek to calm down. It’s hard to stay angry under that kind of trust, and a warm feeling pushes the previous away and pools in Derek’s chest. He decides not to look at it too closely. A quick nod is all the signal Stiles needs to continue.

"I acted like a total ass. Losing my shit like that, twice, and not offering any explanation." Running a hand through his hair, Stiles takes a deep breath, fixing his eyes on Derek’s.

"We’ve all been having some issues… distinguishing between what’s real and what’s not. What you heard from Scott before, about not being able to change, tip of the iceberg.  _Tip of the friggin iceberg_.”

"And you?" Derek asks, since he can already feel Stiles getting sidetracked by matters he considers more important than himself.

"Me? Nothing as drastic but feeling like my mind is slipping. Literally slipping, chipping away piece by piece.  _Like that fucking puzzle_.” His gaze searches for the puzzle that isn’t there anymore. 

"When I’m awake, I can find my way out of it, most of the time. When I’m asleep, however, things get a lot more complicated."

Stiles pauses at that, licking his lips. He locks his eyes on Derek’s, hesitating as he says “Do you believe humans can have anchors?”

Derek shrugs “Why not, it’s not like humans don’t seek out companionship, wolves just do it hyphened.”

"Cause I think you might be mine. Anchor, that is."

"When you touch me, it grounds me, physically and mentally. All those dreams I’ve had, gone when you hold me. And you can blush all you want  _I know_  you’ve had me in a bear-hug more than once. What I can’t get is  _why_. Which is why I flew off the handle so bad, I don’t get why you’re doing any of this, Derek.”

Derek is still a little whiplashed, faintly realizing Stiles just asked him a question.  _Why in the name of all that is holy, was he helping Stiles_ , those being Stiles’ words not his. Derek crosses his arms, ducking his head down. He knows it’s a defensive stance but he needs to grab on to something to think, and Stiles is out of the question right now. Laying all he has figured out on Stiles seems cruel to him, like adding weight the guy's shoulders instead of easing some off him. It's one thing to see Derek as an anchor but completely a different one to see him as a possible mate. The thought is a little too bewildering even for Derek to cope which is why he doesn't feel like sharing it to somebody most definitely not ready for it. He might also be a little anxious about the older Stilinski. The one with a gun and only one family member to worry over.

Still biting on his lower lip, he looks up to Stiles, looks up to the wild hair and the open eyes. Stiles is simply waiting, holding himself completely still as he waits for an answer. Derek isn’t so lucky, he feels he’s about to explode like a land-mine, his mind already pre-emptively scattered all over the place and making him rake it all for one coherent comment.

"You don’t have an answer, do you?" Stiles says, exhausted, all the fight going out of him. He holds out his hand that’s still tightly fisting the Henley, urging Derek to take it, undoubtedly preparing to spring as soon as it’s passed hands. Derek reaches over but not for the shirt, gripping Stiles’ wrist and stepping forward.

"You have to give me a minute here, it’s not like I have any more answers than you do. Considering how well I handled last night." Derek takes a breath, giving Stiles a pointed look, locking them in place. Just because he decides against laying the whole truth on the line, doesn't mean he can't offer some of it.

“You piss me off half the time, you’re loud, always all over the place —-“

“Well don’t sugar-coat for me.”

“—- and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You get me out of my own head,  _you_ , and no one else. You say I ground you, well,  _you_  ground me.”

A small, tentative smile appears on Stiles' lips, growing by the moment. "Wow, that was - that was  _deep_. When did you go all Yoda?” he quips with a much more familiar glint in his eyes.

Derek scoffs, taking a step closer. “Hardly Yoda. When you stormed out I fell straight back into old habits - guilt-tripping, the whole nine yards.”

Stiles makes a face at that. “I’m really sorry. I over-reacted. Godzilla style.”

Derek smiles, gives Stiles a gentle smack on the cheek. “You’re here now, you can start doing penance any time you like.”

Stiles’ brow shoots up, along with the corners of his mouth. He licks his lips, letting his eyes linger on Derek’s mouth. “Yeah? That might take a while, I did just compare you to Tokyo.”

"Take as long as you need."

Stiles grins and places his mouth against Derek’s, his hands moving to run along the scruff before cupping his face. Want storms back into Derek and he opens his mouth to invite Stiles in. Who doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue right in, looking for Derek’s. Stiles shoves him against the wall, his hands dipping under his shirt and  _oh god it’s exactly how Derek imagined it._  

—-

Later that night, there's a muffled sound coming against Derek's stomach. With two fingers, he taps the source on the head. "Stiles I can't hear you like that."

Stiles grudgingly moves his head to the side, smoothing his hand over the sheets and on to Derek's thigh.

" _I said_ I found the missing piece of the puzzle."

Derek smirks. "That a literal or a metaphorical remark?" He finds Stiles' hand and slots their fingers together, squeezing lightly. The appreciative hum he gets in return fills his stomach with butterflies. Which he'll never admit to anybody.

Stiles brings their joined hands closer to his face, running his lips over Derek's knuckles. "Both, if I’d be into that much sap." He places a kiss on the hand and pulls it in tight to his chest before closing his eyes.

Even with the full moon Derek can't help but follow Stiles into sleep, his steady heart beat as his lullaby.


End file.
